


after it all

by Crykea



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Jon, F/F, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touch-Starved, a bit of recovery, mainly tender jonmartin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Crykea
Summary: Jon and Martin should probably have a conversation, but there's still time. They need time. They have time.





	after it all

Loud live music flowed around the group of sombre people huddled alone together at the back of the bar. The upbeat tone of the vocals drifted above the despondent mood emanating from them, never landing. Martin sat with his hands clasped tightly around the outside of a sweating glass of beer. His eyes stared tiredly into the liquid, watching it ripple ever so slightly with the crunch of the bass. The lead vocalist had a deep voice. She was singing some happy original tune written by the drummer, not that he was paying it much attention. Despite how long he’d had his hands around the glass, the beer remained cold, freezing his palms. Melanie and Helen sat on either side of him, talking quietly over his hunched shoulders. The two of them seemed the most animated of the bunch, with Helen laughing and Melanie gesturing loudly with her hands. He couldn't find it in himself to be scared of the monster beside him after everything. She was on the side of the booth closest to the wall, hidden in the slightest manner so as not to scare the wait staff accidentally. Part of him couldn’t believe they had decided to bring her, but he did enjoy how happy Melanie looked.

 

Across from the girls sat Daisy and Basira, sandwiching Jon between them, who was sitting directly across from Martin. It had been his idea to come out, and everyone had agreed that they needed a drink (though Martin could see that none of them that had ordered alcohol had really touched their drinks. He thought everyone just really needed to be with each other. To confirm that they were alive). Daisy was slightly slouched against Jon’s side, looking stoically to the side. Even after everything, she stood watch for the group. Her arm was up flat against the top of the bench, palm flat against the back of Basira’s neck, still covered by her soot and dirt streaked hijab. Every once in a while, Basira would sigh and take a sip of her water. She and Daisy were quiet but in an understanding way that suggested they were waiting until they were back at Basira’s flat alone. Cigarette smoke wafted past the table as the door open and Martin watched the way both Daisy and Jon’s fingers twitched on the tabletop.

 

The Lonely was no longer a part of him. No that wasn’t quite the truth. He had been rescued, of course, but he also couldn’t help but fixate on the slightly blue tinge at his fingertips. A drop of cool condensation dripped down the side of the glass, settling on one vaguely frostbitten finger. He didn’t remember the singer picking up an instrument on stage or introducing the next song until he heard Helen comment on it. Being around so many people after the past few months made him feel quite lightheaded, as though he had drunk more than one sip of his beer. There was a flush on his face from overexertion, rather than inebriation. It still felt as though the blood in his veins was sluggish and cold.

 

Jon had his face to the side, watching the performance intently. A sheen of sweat sat on his forehead, sticking his curls to his temples and making the divots in the flesh of his cheeks stand out. His long fingers were wrapped loosely around a small rum and coke. It seemed as though he mostly wanted something to hold, but every once in a while, he brought the glass to his lips, as though just remembering he was holding it. He looked a bit like he was overheating in the turtleneck that he was still wearing, the only indication Martin got that the room was actually warm where he was freezing. The fabric clung to his shoulder, not noticeably enough for anyone else in the dim bar to notice the blood from where he had held Martin tightly against his chest just hours previously. Looking through the slight white haze of his vision, Martin traced his eyes down the gold streaking through Jon’s dark hair where there used to be silver. The stage lights lit up Jon’s eyes showing the twinkling gold that threaded its way through Jon’s irises as well. Martin took a steadying sip of beer, cringing at the taste. He honestly hated beer-- he didn’t know why he had ordered it. The next sip wasn’t in any way more palatable than the first, so he just held the glass in his hands tighter and cast his eyes back down to the tabletop, counting the drink rings. As though playing a game with himself, he tried to see if he could feel even an iota of the rooms heat instead of thinking solely about the numbness in his fingertips.

 

Helen laughed beside him, her head thrown back in a way that was only just noticeably unnatural. The soft thud of a glass put down too forcefully announced the fact that Daisy had flinched at the sound. While he wasn’t looking at anyone, he could almost feel the glare Basira shot at Helen, though it lacked heat. He looked up through his lashes to watch her gently place her hand over Daisy’s wrist, rubbing her thumb lightly over the skin there. Suddenly, Jon, wrapped his feet around Martin’s ankle underneath the table, the touch startling Martin enough that he bumped the table and sloshed his drink slightly. Jon’s gaze hadn’t moved from the performance on stage. Melanie shot him a look briefly, but her attention remained on whatever Helen was telling her. Martin could have sworn he’d read the name she mentioned in a statement months ago. 

 

The simple touch felt white hot like a vice circling his ankle where his hem had ridden slightly up. Jon didn’t react at all as Martin stared at him intensely--confused. The lead singer introduced another song, this one just her and the woman on keys, as Jon brought his glass up to his lips to take another drink. The opening chord progression was followed by Jon’s gold flecked eyes flicking over to Martin’s dull grey ones. He held his gaze only for a moment before turning again to watch the band.

 

A whisper of a thought brushed warmly against his mind, weaving heat up and down his spinal cord, and winding around his teeth like candy floss. The voice in his head at that moment sounded suspiciously like the man across from him; a sweet whine in his teeth, that vibrated quietly at the base of his skull in a way that ached pleasantly behind his eyes.  _ You aren't alone. Not anymore. You have those around you. People care about you. Let yourself be looked after.  _ He closed his eyes against the bar lighting and sighed. The chemically sweet scent of Melanie's vodka cooler overpowered her for a moment when she held it up to him and poked his arm. Impulsively, he flinched back slightly but opened his eyes to see what she wanted.

 

“This is a bit sweet for me after this shitshow. Do you want this? I'm gonna go get something else either way.” she was offering him an olive branch, something for which he was incredibly grateful. She gave him a sympathetic look, that he pretended not to notice along with her coming back with the exact same drink she had just handed him. Their bottles, Martin’s partially drunk--not that he minded, clinked together in a tired attempt at cheers. 

 

Jon had leant forward on his elbows against the table, allowing the women on either side of him to rest their entwined hands across his back. They were talking very quietly together, making meaningful eye contact that made Martin feel like an intruder for looking in their direction. The singer on stage swayed back and forth, performing some song about lost love. She cried out something about loneliness and the word itself was enough to cause phantasmal ice to rush through him. He shivered intensely, feeling embarrassed enough about the lapse that he allowed tiny pinpricks of static to creep up his arms. Just a moment later, the sticky warmth from before came back to him, making his eyes feel wet when they weren’t. He became aware of Jon gently taking the glass of beer from him with some murmured sentiment about finishing it for him. Their fingers brushed together, obviously intentional, making Jon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

 

“Martin, you’re freezing!” He gasped, setting aside the glass to cradle one of Martin’s hands between his own. Immediately, his eyes were trained on his hand in Jons, while the other seemed to feel colder around Melanie’s drink. He could tell Melanie was shooting a look to Basira across the table just from the way he heard her turn from Helen and tilt her head. Belatedly he thought to himself that he really missed this, though the forefront of his brain was filled with rather more static than thought. It wasn’t the misty static of the Lonely but something buzzing and warm. The point of burning contact still around his ankle stayed, but was joined by the fixating warmth of Jon’s hands. After a while, he tiredly allowed his eyes to drift closed, just too long to count as a blink. He lifted Melanie's drink to his mouth with a slight hum. The sweetness seemed to chase out some of the fog in his mind.

 

“that's what happens with the--” Martin eventually started, only to be cut off by Jon's fingertips rubbing against his own. He hadn't realized the nothingness creeping back in until...something else replaced it. That was right-- they had all made a rule to not talk about the day's events. The morale was already low, there was no use in bringing it down further.

 

The group stewed in the continued exhausted silence until after the band had finished their set list. The dark smudges underneath Daisy's eyes looked deeper than they had in weeks, which was to say something as he wasn’t sure he had seen Daisy get a proper night’s rest in weeks since she had been back. He was sure his own eyes probably looked about the same. It wasn’t like he had necessarily needed sleep in the Lonely anyways. Looking further, there were crusty rust coloured flakes in the beds of Daisy's nails. Melanie's left hand was still trembling almost imperceptibly, but Helen seemed to help a bit with that. The monster’s presence was new among the group, but Martin didn’t mind her. She had helped Melanie’s shaking go down to just a slight tremble since the institute where her trembles had been enough to make her teeth chatter.

 

The gentle press of Jon’s fingers into Martin’s palms startled him from a quiet reverie he wasn’t aware he had fallen into. Without realizing, he had finished the drink Melanie gave him. Jon dragged his fingernails lightly against the palm of Martin’s hand before abruptly letting it go to tap the table once.

 

“I think it's about time I take my leave. Please,  _ please _ take the next while off; you all deserve it. No, I wont be at the institute either, before you ask. All of us need some time I think.” Daisy nodded, standing so he could pass. Martin watched him stand beside the table to put on his jacket, hissing as he had to move his shoulder. Once he was ready he turned back to the table expectantly, “Well? Are you coming?”

 

It took Martin an embarrassing moment to realize the question was directed at him while confusion and surprise snaked through him sluggishly. He raised his eyebrows and pointed at himself, causing Jon to huff out a laugh and a little “of course,”. He helped Martin put on his coat, before taking his hand once again and waving at the women. Martin echoed the wave, exhaustion hitting him like a bucket of water as soon as the pair began to walk. Jon gently coaxed his head so that it laid against his shoulder as they walked, a slightly awkward position, but one that didn't make him feel like passing out was imminent. Helen called goodbye after them, just loud enough that his head hurt for a moment.

 

The wind was familiarly cold as they walked. Martin was all at once not thankful for this familiarity. Jon explained quietly to him that his house wasn't far enough for him to bother calling a cab, continuing to carry the entirely one-sided conversation carefully, never making Martin feel as though a response was necessary. He told him stories from his time at university, from his travels in America a year ago, from his childhood living with his grandmother… He was right. The walk didn’t take very long, though Martin didn’t remember much of the walking part. He’d been too focused on Jon’s voice, quiet but somehow prominent against the buffeting wind around them. The wind nipped at the shells of his ears and wrapped itself around his torso as they neared Jon’s house. He let out a warm sigh against Jon’s neck as his mind reflexively invited the cold into him, fogging over his immediate thoughts. Once again, the warm voice in his mind whispered to him, patting his head with comforting words and praises. He shuddered and breathed out again against Jon’s neck, listening to his breath hitch, focusing on the texture of Jon’s thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

 

Jon’s house shared a porch and a wall with the house beside. As Jon reached an arm out to unlock the door, Martin was overcome with a sense of urgency that cut through his dulled mind. Jon seemed to have been able to feel the shift in martin’s mood as he flinched and held his keys tighter just a moment before Martin tugged Jon back to face him, his back to the banister and the wind. Above them, rain began pattering on the roof’s overhand that covered the door. The wind whipped rain into Martin’s cheeks like violent tears despite the shelter. It was one in the morning. He held Jon’s concern gaze, desperately needing to say something but entirely unsure as to what he was meant to say. A gust of wind pulled at the end of Jon’s scarf before feeling its way up the back of Martin’s head like a skeleton’s hand. He gasped, almost painfully, shutting his eyes gratefully a moment later when Jon’s hand replaced the cold against his scalp. He looked down at Martin with a soft expression as he cradled his head. Raindrops splashed up from the banister that Martin’s back was leaning against, soaking through his sweater. 

 

“Jon--” Martin started, still confused about what he felt he needed to confess, “I'm, I'm--I-”

 

Instead of words, he collapsed against Jon's chest, breathily quiet sobs wracking his body, hands shaking against his coat. The taller man held him tightly, leaning down to press his face into the crook of Martin's neck with a pained expression. His hand still clutched Martin's own while his other tugged very gently at the roots of his hair, grounding him. Everything about him felt all too present-- too real-- after months of numbness and isolation. His very existence muted behind a debilitating cloud of Nothing. Jon held him on the porch as he cried until all he could feel was warm. The wind had turned entirely to rain. Water pattering grass around them singing along with the hushed whispers of Jon’s apologies which he kissed into Martin’s neck, forehead, shoulder, cheeks--

 

Martin's grip on Jon’s hair when he kissed him was a bit rough, and he was sure he looked like a disaster, but Jon didn't seem to mind in the least. He let go of Martin’s hand to loop an arm around Martin's waist, pulling him closer still, kissing his grief into the desperate press of Martin's mouth. 

 

When they separated, Martin stood with his back against the banister and his forehead rested against Jon's. Against the head of his gaze, he shut his eyes, stubborn tears still falling while his breath hitched. Jon kissed the wet trails under his eyes while his cheeks warmed under Jon's hands. He tilted his face up towards him, eyes still closed, embracing the way Jon's consciousness stroked against his own continuing its whispered praises. Trying his hardest, he pushed forth his own thought to Jon’s, enjoying the way the man’s mind glowed with affection immediately.

 

_ I missed you too. I was worried about you too. Thank you. I’m sorry. _

 

Jon smiled into his temple, staying still until Martin opened his eyes again so they could make eye contact. They were close enough that when Jon spoke, Martin felt his lips brush against his own. His eyes were intense as he watched the glowing golden strands in Jon’s eyes glisten with honey words. He didn’t have to wonder long if Jon would let him kiss him again.

 

The second kiss was gentler, less of Martin’s desperation and more of a reminder-- caring. He wasn’t alone. He was here. He was present. Jon’s words coated his tongue-- sweet like molasses, making Martin relax and melt into his touch. The buzz of the Beholding's powers added a pleasant white noise that blocked out the sound of pounding rain all whilst still enhancing the surrounding smell of ozone.

 

“I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> yo my main is @crykea on tumblr and my podcast blog is @alicedaisytonner


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